


2 hrs, 46 min.

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Series: Les Mis snippetfic [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, Elections, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:21:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly 3 a.m. The vote had been called for two hours, forty-six minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2 hrs, 46 min.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts).



> November 2014 was...not my favorite month. But goshemily's birthday was in there, so it wasn't a total loss.

Should've brought my coat, Enjolras thought once, though Feuilly's second floor balcony wasn't that much colder than the house was indoors. Bahorel had wrenched up all the windows, with promises to get them closed again one way or another after the smoke cleared out. (The smell, fortunately, had already started to fade.) He and Feuilly were saying goodbye to Lamarque and her husband on the sidewalk. 

In the kitchen Bossuet and Prouvaire were washing dishes, possibly breaking as many as were being cleaned, and trading exhausted, slap-happy puns; in the garage Joly was saying thanks to the campaign volunteers who'd hung in late, sending them away with threadbare kindness and the rest of the beer. Enjolras couldn't make out Combeferre's specific words but could hear his steadying tone, floating up from the open living room window, as he tried talking Courfeyrac into a less pyromanic mood.

Nearly 3 a.m. The vote had been called for two hours, forty-six minutes.

Enjolras took a long breath of cold air, exhaled, saw nothing in the night sky but clouds reflecting back city lights. The next two years were always going to be hard, considering the depth and breadth of problems in the state, the sheer number of people who needed help. Newly reelected Senator Phillipe was going to ensure difficulties on another scale entirely for the next two years -- and Enjolras could not yet bear to consider the four years after that.

"Here," Grantaire said. When Enjolras looked over a mug of some steaming liquid was being pushed into his hands. "It's just cider, but at least it's hot."

Enjolras warmed his hands around the mug and took a sip. Cider spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and brandy was one of the better beverages he'd tasted in weeks. The campaign office across town, disbanded for two hours and forty-six minutes, was mostly littered with flyers, postcards, voter registration forms, and styrofoam that had once contained coagulated-oil-spill type coffee.

"Thanks," he said, eyeing Grantaire.

Grantaire shrugged. "You're welcome." He did not seem inclined to say anything else. He was gazing up at the peach-tinted clouds, breeze stirring his curls.

Enjolras sat the mug down on the porch rail. "So."

Grantaire looked over, cocked an eyebrow, remained silent.

"I presume nothing about this evening surprised you." Enjolras hated the peevish note in his voice, and looked down at his cider.

Grantaire stood up straighter. "Well," he ventured, "I wouldn't have put money on Courfeyrac setting fire to a t-shirt."

Phillipe for Congress, long-sleeved, goldenrod yellow, men's size XL. Gone but not forgotten.

"Not inside the house, anyway," Grantaire said after a beat.

Enjolras sighed, but smiled. Briefly.

"It's going to be fine," Grantaire said. He sidled a little closer to Enjolras.

"We lost," Enjolras said.

"You did." 

"And a genuine asshole was reelected."

Grantaire faux gasped. "Language, my dear sir!" He grinned, bumped Enjolras's shoulder with his. "But yeah." He trailed his fingers over Enjolras's right wrist until their palms met. Enjolras latched onto his hand.

"You're going to be fine, though," Grantaire said.

"I'm not worried about me," Enjolras started.

"I know," Grantaire said. He squeezed Enjolras's hand. "I still believe in you. In all of you. You're going to make sure this asshole doesn't ruin the state or country further. More than that, even -- you're going to do such good things. Valjean's not going anywhere. Lamarque's not going anywhere. Everyone knows what needs to be done now, so you're going to do it."

Enjolras studied him for a second. "Yes," he said, nodding. "We are." He squeezed Grantaire's hand. "You too."

"Nah," Grantaire said, dipping his head.

"You helped this time," Enjolras reminded him.

"Not a lot."

"More than usual."

"That's not saying much."

"It is," Enjolras insisted. Grantaire snorted. "You helped me," Enjolras said. "You are helping me." Grantaire snorted again. "You have the ability to be helpful, is all I'm saying," Enjolras said with some exasperation.

"Okay," Grantaire said. The syllables were drenched in familiar sarcasm, but the look in his eyes was entirely...

Affectionate, Enjolras thought, devoted; and he felt both settled and buoyed by the truth of it, knowing it was mirrored in himself.

"Come home with me," he said.

"Something you need help with?" Grantaire asked, leaning closer.

"Yes," Enjolras said against the corner of Grantaire's soft mouth, right before they each forgot to speak again for a while.


End file.
